Alexa Drey- the Gates of Striker Bay

by Ember Lane

  “My spells,” I told him. “My healing spells, they’re gone. This is kind of new.”

  “You feel okay?”

  “Think so.”

  “Well, we’ve only just started.”

  I looked over them, the Rakesh unhomed. There were hundreds. The place was beginning to look like a refugee camp.

  We spent the rest of the day going from one to the next, and by the time dusk came I was dead on my feet. The Valkyrians had ventured back into the safest chambers and salvaged what they could. The water had only wet some parts of Rakesh while others had been decimated. The center was gone as was the approach to the distant sea.

  I hated to think about the rest of Valkyrie, about the others like Trappas Shyl, Zhang Zhou, even Ruse. Would the mists have protected Mandrake? I had no clue nor did Pog or Melinka, Mezzerain, or Sutech. We just thought aloud, talked down alleyways of guesswork. But it comforted us, brought us closer together.

  We were all in one shelter as large as a grand Bedouin tent and equipped with too much luxury for the situation, but the locals had insisted, seeing as we’d spent all day healing their wounded.

  “The last time a similar thing to this happened was when Poleyna cracked the Earth. The waves were fifty feet high, rushing outward like some avenging god,” Melinka said.

  “Perhaps it was,” Mezzerain grunted. “Perhaps it was her vengeance for judging her, for sentencing her.”

  “Maybe. Who knows? They say she’s the best—the worthiest of our affection, but I find it hard not to hold them all in contempt—to wonder what our lives would have been like without them.”

  “All gods are bastards,” Mezzerain said. “The lot of them, and I should know; I was Taric’s second, until he upped and got himself killed. Taric was grand, a stupid bastard, but grand.”

  “Shades of bastard,” Sutech grunted.

  Mezzerain snapped his fingers. “That’s it—stupid bastard, evil bastard, sick bastard—shades of bastard. I like that.”

  I glanced up, taking a swig of some warm ale. “But we can’t believe that, can we? We have to hope they have half an idea, that they need us as much as we need them.”

  Melinka scoffed, “Need us? Why do gods need us?”

  “To worship them,” Pog said matter-of-factly. “What’s the point of being a god if no one idolizes you?”

  He had a point.

  “What was Taric like?” I asked Mezzerain.

  “Like? He was like your best friend and blessed with a peculiar energy for life. Nothing was beyond the bounds of the day. If he wanted to build a castle, he’d set about it, only defeated when dusk came. If he wanted to journey anywhere, it was always a day, no matter how long it took. An optimist—a playful one.”

  “So how did he get trapped by Belved?”

  Mezzerain sat back, his face one of astonishment. “Through betrayal, how else? Scholl lured him to Castle Kyrie, and Ruse ate him up. A classic flanking movement.”

  “So it wasn’t just ShadowDancer?”

  “No, no I don’t think so. Scholl is guilty in that respect. He’ll plead his innocence, but I saw the scribble—Scholl’s signature—plain as day.”

  “What was going to happen at Kyrie?”

  “Poleyna’s reprieve. Scholl’s plan was to have them all vote again—he said that the contest wasn’t fair without her.”

  “So all the other gods were there?”

  Mezzerain shook his head. “No, none of the others turned up. Not even sure Scholl did. All I know is this. The king of Kyrie was dead. Ruse was everywhere. Belved crushed Taric like a bug and then went on to strangle all of Valkyrie.”

  “You smuggled your troops out of Kyrie?”

  “Not quite,” Mezzerain said.

  “Indeed,” Melinka repeated.

  “Melinka smuggled me under the mists. I planted my portal’s end in Tanglewood and let Roland Caine through. It was a plan—a hurried one, but a plan. Within a few weeks, there wasn’t a decent soldier in Kyrie.”

  “So Taric was…fun?” I asked.

  Mezzerain nodded. “Yep, never met the likes of him again, never laughed so much in my life.”

  “So what’s next?”

  “Next? Nothing changes; plans just accelerate. We go to Speaker’s Isle. We ride hard, and while we do, Joss and Vassal prepare—Selor prepares. They rouse the militia; press the banners.”

  “And?”

  “And when you’re done with the witches, we cleanse Valkyrie from here to the gates of Striker Bay.”

  We had a plan, and we set off before the sun blinked over the eastern horizon.

  We rode hard: Mezzerain, Melinka, Sutech Charm, Pog and me, and we headed north through rolling dales, verdant valleys, and into thick forests. Horses were made ready for us, fresh and rested, the townsfolk and villagers alerted by Joss the Nine’s crows.

  And as we ventured north, the land began to change. The valleys grew steeper, the forests older; moss cloaked the rocks, and mist filled the hollows. Morning fog soon hampered our progress, but we galloped on like ghost riders, our fresh horses not putting a foot wrong as we kept the morning sun due east and the setting sun to the west.

  We finally rested at the edge of a huge forest, standing proud of the dales like an onrushing wave.

  “Crawlinwood,” Melinka said, funnels of steam billowing from her nag’s nose. “We best go through now, while it's still.”

  “Still?” I questioned, but had a fair idea what was about to go on.

  “Cool,” said Pog, kicking his horse forward. “Does it really crawl?”

  “Ain’t called Crawlinwood because it sits and smokes a pipe,” Mezzerain griped.

  Melinka caught up with Pog, holding him back. “You don’t understand; it works slightly differently in there.”

  Pog deferred, ever the player.

  Melinka vanished into the trees, Pog followed. Sutech bade me go first.

  “Not quite as boring as fighting a single war,” I told him, and to my surprise he returned my smile.

  “I’m beginning to see what Star saw in venturing.”

  I followed Pog, and we entered Crawlinwood.

  The light dimmed instantly, thick emerald rays angling down. Moss cloaked all: the undulating ground, the reaching tree roots, even falling vines. Our path led straight ahead then had a small curve and quickly doubled back on itself, but the wood’s edge was nowhere to be seen.

  “Just follow the horse in front of you,” Mezzerain growled, but I could tell he was uneasy, his words choking in his throat.

  A wolf bayed. Something slithered through the moss, making it ripple like a puddle. A bird burst out, flying up to the black canopy, the sunlight stifled then breaking through, speckling the moss with puddles of light.

  I concentrated on Pog and prayed he was doing the same to Melinka, though how she was navigating this strangely uniform but random way, was beyond me. We came to a brook that flowed left to right. By the time our horses had drunk, by the time we’d replenished our water bottles, we were on the tip of a meander, two mighty oaks either side of us.

  “No, Pretheuos, I don’t need you and your brother to direct us.” There was laughter in Melinka’s voice, and true love too. “But you can guard our way, if you like.”

  I swear I heard the trees laugh: a deep bass laugh like it came from the belly.

  We crossed the river, leaving the trees behind, but then I saw them again a little ways ahead, and though I knew it to be impossible, I also knew what I’d seen.

  We rode until night, and a dark one it was, and stopped by another waterway. Melinka stopped us from lighting a fire, conjuring a glowsphere, or anything that might disturb the trees. We tethered the horses to my fiberstone staff, plunging it into the soft loam by the bank’s side. Huddling top to toe, we tied ourselves together, drank from our flasks, ate our biscuits and the last of our bread, and we slept in a fat line.

  We woke in the morning right by the entrance to Crawlinwood.

  Our horses were
nowhere to be seen nor was my staff.

  “Pretheuos!” Melinka shouted. “I suppose you think it's funny!” A rustle rippled through the leaves, yet no wind blew. “I demand you take us back!” She stomped her staff down.

  The trees parted, offering us a wide way through, a trail rather than a path, so we walked in, two abreast. Melinka and Mezzerain took the lead, with the three of us following.

  “Is this usual?” Sutech asked. “We end up back at the beginning, wasting a day?”

  “Not necessarily,” Pog chirped. “It’s a crawling wood; we could already be there.”

  “Where?” Sutech asked, scratching his head.

  Pog looked at him like he was dim. “Where we’re going. You need to have more fun—lighten up a bit.”

  “Fun,” he grunted. “Since I met you, you destroyed my boat, got me caught up in a whirlwind, captured by priests, beaten, tortured, rescued by a witch, and then nearly drowned when a cataclysmic event destroyed the very city you made me come to. Now we’re in a wood that moves around, with trees that laugh at you. And you think the gods are on your side?”

  Pog thought about it for a second. “They’re certainly more fun than yours,” he replied.

  Sutech looked at me, raising his hands in defeat. “I give up."

  “Just enjoy the walk,” I added.

  Sutech rolled his eyes. “Oh, for my apartment in Tharameer Port.”

  “Come on, we’d best keep up.” I pushed Pog forward, looking around and tugging Sutech after me. “We’ve got a truce going on; remember that.”

  “Ah,” said Pog. “We’ve got a problem.”

  I bumped into him, seeing the way ahead barred by a dozen stout trees. Pog rushed to one side, but the trees shuffled with him. We darted to the other, but they shuffled over.

  “Melinka!” I shouted.

  “Mezzerain!” Pog called, but neither of us received any answer.

  “Get out of my way!” I screamed at the trees, and to my utter surprise, they moved, an empty trail in front of us. We all darted along it as it twisted and turned and took us deeper and deeper into the woods.

  “Melinka! Mezzerain!”

  We came to a river, stopping and drinking our fill. Somewhere in the distance, a horse whinnied. Sutech stood bolt upright, Pog too.

  “Are those your horses?” a strange voice called, but when I looked up, I could see no one.

  “Where are you?” I asked.

  “Answer my question.”

  “Are there five, and are they tethered to a staff?”

  “There are, and they were. Who tethers such wonderful creatures?”

  I narrowed my eyes and spied him. He was childlike, his skin green, ears pointed, and lips a shocking pink.

  “I did,” I said. “We were worried they might get lost in Crawlinwood.”

  “How did that work out for you?”

  I walked up to him, standing toe to toe with the little imp. “You give me back my horses, and take me to my friends, or so help me I’ll—”

  “You’ll what?” he asked, a naughty grin adorning his sharp face. “You’ll use your fire magic? I’d like to see that—see what the trees will think of that. My guess is that they’ll gobble you up and hide you under their roots, squeezing you black and blue, and your head will throb, and you’ll choke and die!”

  “Do you want to see my stone?” Pog asked suddenly. “I’ve got a flying, blue stone that talks.”

  Pog edged me out of the way.

  “You haven’t!” the imp declared.

  “Bet you I have. What’s your name?”

  Sutech pulled me back, silently urging me to leave it up to Pog.

  “Thriftswing,” the imp answered, putting his hands in his pockets and swaying on his feet. “What’s the bet?”

  “If the stone flies and talks, you take us to the horses. If it doesn’t you can keep it.” He held out Stalker. It sat innocently on his palm spraying its azure glow around.

  Thriftswing’s face lit up. “Deal,” he said.

  Pog grinned, and Stalker flew up into the air, spinning then dipping, and hovered right by Thriftswing’s face.

  “Have you seen Vengeance? Vengeance should be awake. Enmity's been placed, Unity too, and Warrior, so Vengeance should be awake. Have you seen it?”

  Thriftswing stamped his foot. “You cheated. No fair. The stone’s magic.”

  “Our horses,” Pog demanded.

  “Never,” Thriftswing screamed, snatching Stalker from the air and running away.

  I burst after the horrible, little imp, but Pog stopped me.

  “He’ll be back.”

  A yelp of terror sounded, followed swiftly by Thriftswing himself, bounding back past us, slapping his head and shoulders as Stalker chased him, growling, smashing into him, then retreating, then crashing into him again.

  “Get it off me! Get it off me!” he cried, vanishing into the undergrowth, reappearing, yelping, and screaming again.

  Just as Pog looked ready to call his stone back, a huge growl rang out, followed by bursts of fast words spoken in a scramble by Thriftswing and then a huge harrumph, clearly not the little imp.

  Pounding feet followed, and a giant came into view. He held Thriftswing up by the scruff of his tunic. The giant was gray: as gray as a rock face and just as tall, towering halfway up the trees.

  “Humans?” He pulled Thriftswing level with his head. “What have I told you about playing with humans. They have no humor about them, none at all.”

  Thriftswing kicked his feet in midair. “Pretheuos started it; he tricked them. I was just helping them find their way when that little one attacked me with his rock.” The imp stabbed an accusatory finger at Pog.

  “He’s lying!” Pog shouted. “He stole my stone.”

  “Really?” The giant cocked his head and held out his hand. Stalker sat upon his open palm. “This stone. He stole this stone, the one that was attacking him?”

  A smile spread on Thriftswing’s pink lips as he nodded and pointed at Pog. “And hurt me; it hurt me too.” He beamed up at the giant.

  “Well”—and the giant blew at the stone, sending it straight to Pog—“that makes you the liar, little one.”

  “No!” I shouted, hands on hips, ready for a row. “They made a bet; Thriftswing lost, and then he stole the stone. Unfortunately for him, that stone bites back. It’s soulbound to Pog.”

  “Pog, eh?” the giant said, setting down Thriftswing and sitting on the moss while he considered my words.

  “What’s your name?” I asked.

  “Which one?” the giant asked back.

  “The one you like to be called.”

  He appeared to drift off, like the question needed mulling. “When?” he finally asked. “I preferred Talis when I was younger, Gorrigon Rockbreaker after that, and then Gorrigon Metalbeater—that was for a good while, but lately it’s been Gorrigon Woodward.”

  “Well, Gorrigon Woodward it is,” I declared.

  The giant slumped. “Always preferred Talis.”

  I pursed my lips, the veins in my neck tightening. “So, Talis.”

  His eyes brightened but then dulled in defeat. “That’s far too short for a giant.”

  Taking a breath, I crouched down, looking up at him. “How about, Talis Gorrigon Rockbreaker Metalbeater Woodward.”

  The giant tapped his huge, bulbous nose. “Now, that tells the story of my life. Yes, I like that.”

  “And we can call you Talis for short.”

  “You may,” Talis Gorrigon Rockbreaker Metalbeater Woodward said as he settled back against a stone, yawning. “Too much for one day.”

  “Well, now we’ve figured that out, the trees stole our horses. Will you help us get them back?” I asked, but Talis was already snoring.

  “What now?” Sutech asked.

  “We wait,” Pog replied eagerly. “Wait and see what happens.”

  The giant’s snores grew to a rumble, his exhalations rippling the tree’s leaves, making them sway
back and forth. Thriftswing prodded Pog. Pog jabbed him back.

  “Ouch!” Thriftswing held his arm. “I was just going to ask you if you wanted to play while you waited.”

  “Play what?”

  “Come with me.” He grabbed Pog’s hand, pulling him into the trees.

  “Pog!” I called.

  “I’ll be okay. Trust me!”

  I shrugged my shoulders. Pog invariably knew what he was doing.

  “Will he be okay?” Sutech asked.

  “He likes to grab every opportunity to find out what’s going on.” I delved inside my bag of holding, bringing out some biscuits and my water bottle. “Want some?”

  “Please.” He took a long swig then lurched forward but appeared to think better of it as he drew a long breath. He shifted, making himself comfortable, then tapped his knee. “Where did you meet her? Star. Where did you meet her?”

  His question came out of the blue, at first just bouncing off me like they were inconsequential words but soon piercing the fabric of my hidden memories. I wondered how much he’d want to know—how deep their conflict ran. If I spilled too much, would I be betraying her? Then I remembered back, back to the first time I’d met her, all that time ago, and could see no harm in telling her father the tale. “Some village—Merry-something, I think. She was waiting the bar, all cleavage and smiles, and I’d just come to the world, wide eyed and innocent, well, not entirely. I think from that first moment she decided to take me under her wing. I was already a bit bruised and broken.”

  “Oh? How come?”

  “Kinda killed the dwarf king. Long story, but that night I turned up in the inn, I was covered in blood and still in shock. The others, well, to them it was daily fare, something to be expected in the normal course of a quest.”

  “And you’d only just… What is it you starborn do? Arrive, fall to earth, just become?”

  I thought on it. “Wake up is a better analogy. Anyhow, Petroo, Greman, and Gromolor took me to an inn, and there she was.”

  Sutech choked back a laugh, his gaze turning whimsical. “She had a great sense of where the world turned and where it didn’t. You can’t teach that. She probably traveled half the lands to get behind that counter. Imagine the waiting.”